


who knew the top would be so fucking ugly

by Theboys



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, M/M, Pre-Stanford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6546208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam suddenly can’t wait, not a second longer, not when Dean’s been giving him bedroom eyes since Sam was sixteen and billowed up and out, hung three inches and counting over big brother.</p><p>What Sam wants, Sam gets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	who knew the top would be so fucking ugly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexa_dean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexa_dean/gifts).



> OMFG I know this is FULL of errors and I'll fix them later but I NEEDED TO GIVE THIS TO MY SWEET CHILD ALEXA_DEAN FOR HER BIRTHDAY. LOVE YOU SO MUCH BB, I hope it's REMOTELY OKAY.
> 
> Title taken from Clush, by Isles & Glaciers.

“You’re cleaning it up. When it gets all over the damn floor,” Dean says, limbs tight against his body.

Sam blinks down at his brother, chrysalis-cage of his eyelashes. “Wouldn’t want you to break something, Mr. Rogers,” Sam says patiently, and he’s dragging his brother closer, one broad palm spanning the entirety of Dean’s lower back.

It gets him hard.

Makes him rock-leak, dick jumping up to meet his abdomen with how easy it is to move his brother, drag him where Sam likes him best.

Dean’s body stiffens in response; Sam can almost feel his mouth opening to protest the motion, but then his brother pinks up, cream-blush bleeding into the water.

“Couldn’t’ve done this shit on a bed,” Dean says, shoulders hunched as he bends forward to submerge his upper half into the water.

“Gotta be a kinky fuck and lose your virginity in a bathtub.” 

Sam grins, knowing, and reminds himself that Dean hasn’t shrugged Sam’s hand off; it’s still riding high on the crease above Dean’s ass, rested and tapping out a beat.

“Not a virgin,” Sam says, and Dean blinks up, dew-drops hanging loose to his lids.

“Well shove an apple in my mouth and call me teacher’s pet,” Dean says, eyes narrowed. 

“Who was it?” Dean rambles, eyes sliding shut in faux-thought. “Addie Simmons, back in Nebraska?” Dean grunts to himself, amused.

“Fuck man, her tits were like, the size of my head. No. Of your head,” Dean rectifies, and Sam takes the opportunity to grind himself closer, part through the water and press his chest to Dean’s own.

Dean’s mouth flutters on his next words and Sam can see the crown of Dean’s head like this, wheat-brown gently curving to meet his forehead, damp with wet.

“Was her brother, actually,” Sam says, bites it out right next to Dean’s ear just to feel Dean flinch against him, body arched.

“She wanted to play, though,” Sam muses, and his fingers sink lower, ride the crease of Dean’s ass and Dean shifts on limber knees, widening against what must be his will.

“Derek bent over first,” Sam says and then he’s dragging his hand away; Dean’s eyes flicker.

“Well aren’t you Casanova,” Dean says, and Sam stifles a laugh. Hardly. But Sam is determined, and Dean’s never stood a chance.

It’s his birthday, after all.

Dean’s promised him a lot of things, but he’s never willfully failed on any of them.

Sam’s legal and growing, turnt sideways about the idea of his brother. Dreams about the deep-seated burn his brother carries around inside of him, like every square inch of it doesn’t belong to Sam personal.

Sam suddenly can’t wait, not a second longer, not when Dean’s been giving him bedroom eyes since Sam was sixteen and billowed up and out, hung three inches and counting over big brother.

Dean’s hands come up, uncertain, and wrap around Sam’s abs, gun-calloused and bruised.

“What’re we feeding you?” Dean asks in wonderment, and Sam’s dick jumps. Like Sam hasn’t been bleeding and training for this.

Like Sam hasn’t been bitching less and bleeding more, up beside his brother and behind his father.

He’s been writing at night, pencil broken over words to transcribe to type and Dean’s finally here, open and precious, tangled with what Sam knows as regret.

Sam’s built of regrets, a mosaic of them, and that’s not inclined to change even if he’s supposed to get the only person that’s ever meant a shit to him.

Somewhere, in the back of Sam’s mind; he wonders if this’ll only make it worse.

“Huh Einstein?” Dean teases, brow furrowed in that particular cadence of  _ Sam  _ that Sam loathes and breathes in equal measures.

“Some kind of Julia Child,” Dean’s muttering, and Sam can’t have that. Can’t allow Dean to lose himself accidentally-on-purpose.

“You’re the only one who’s any good in the kitchen,” Sam murmurs and presses even closer, until Dean’s palms are squished between both sets of abs and Sam’s breathing loudly enough to be embarrassed by it.

Sam doesn’t waste anymore time; he hasn’t got much left of it anyway, and he rummages around on the sink, early 20th century porcelain that’s chipped in most places and blessedly whole in one.

It’s incongruous there, the non-descript bottle of lube that Sam stashed in plain sight of Dean; two months ago when he’d demanded this present from his brother, and all things like it.

Sam’s fumbling, clumsy in a way he hasn’t been in awhile, not since he was young and nervous and Dean guided smaller hands to shoot point-blank.

Dean isn’t any help, eyes liquid and lawn-breezed, turned up to face Sam with his lower lip tucked in his mouth like sacrilege.

There’s nothing like dying by your brother’s hand.

Sam’s fingers are sticky-thick and Dean shudders, arches up onto his thighs from where Sam’s big body is crammed between them.

Sam wants slow; he does, but he’s trembling and Dean’s body is darkening with want and wait and Sam’s not a righteous man.

Sam slides two fingers right on down; thinks this is Dean’s first time like this and slots one home, second knuckle deep with a twist of his wrist.

Dean gasps out all of his air and his head falls forward, braced against Sam’s collarbone. Sam places his free hand on the nape of Dean’s neck and pumps languidly, his heart swallowed up in his chest.

“Nothing small about you, is there,” Dean says, so hushed that Sam doesn’t know which of them it’s for.

Sam hums in response and his middle comes up to join the first, tight-burn but he shoves on through. He keeps a strict hold on Dean’s body because his brother is trembling, thighs spasming around their wide sprawl.

“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” Dean breathes, and Sam’s dick jerks wildly in the water, stirring up a small splash because Dean’s trying to crane his legs wider but the edges of the tub won’t give.

Sam’s stupid and reckless and he spears his brother open on a third finger before either of them are ready and Dean’s spine stiffens and his neck falls back and Sam can’t quite see past the blur of tears in his eyes.

“God fucking shit--Sammy, fuckin’ Christ,” Dean slurs and Sam jerks wet fingers free and scrabbles for the lube, dumping the majority directly on his dick before he shoves Dean back, knocks Dean’s spine against the rim of the tub and unfolds Dean’s legs himself.

Dean’s eyes have gone glassy and his nipples are flushed and peaked, pointed toward God.

Dean braces his upper half on his arms and Sam draws his brother’s legs up so that they rest against Sam’s biceps.

Sam slips once and grabs the edge of the tub for balance.

Water sloshes over the side and down onto the tile, rivulets around the edge of the door.

Sam’s other hand is too busy guiding his dick into his brother’s ass and Dean’s rigid but the heels of his feet are bouncing with how hard he’s trying to choke himself on Sam’s big cock, drool on it.

“Hurry the fuck up--Sammy, shit Sam, one fucking inch at a time--” Dean wails, alternately pulling and pushing and Sam’s been too patient.

Sam’s been too damn-near docile about everything.

Sam’s crown breaches the rim and he feels, rather than hears the pop of resistance. Sam moves his newly freed hand to the other side of the tub and uses that momentum to shove forward, bury himself the rest of the way home with one move that has Dean sobbing out in what sound like pain-pleasure.

Sam’s shaking, all the way from his cock to his toes and he’s growing bigger inside his brother, if that’s even at all possible. 

“Sam fucking Winchester,” Dean grits out, and there’s a slack happy look on Dean’s face but he’s also wincing and Sam remembers how he just shoved 9+ into his brother without a single break in stride.

“You move, so help me God,” Dean wheezes, “gimme a sec. Gimme fifteen seconds,” Dean huffs, and Sam’s about to; he really is, but he’s got to get his body into a better position if he’s supposed to wait his brother out.

Sam gets one knee out from under him and that’s it. He stabs a bit further inside of his brother and Dean lets out a high whine and Sam’s hip stutter wildly and he comes, crackling white-hot within Dean’s hole and Sam knows that grunt is coming from him.

Sam locks both hands around the small of his brother’s waist and when he looks up, bangs tumbling over his eyelids, Dean’s face is drawn but grinning and Sam knows Dean’s never gonna forget this.

“Well, well,” Dean begins, and that won’t do. 

Sam leans forward once, still hard enough to break glass, and screws his hips tight.

Dean wails, Sam’s proud of the sound, and Sam curls one hand around the brand of Dean’s dick and his brother’s undone.

Dean’s body stretches out before him, most of the water lost to the floor, and Sam watches it jerk in his fist, purple-tinged and straining.

Dean doesn’t say anything.

-

Sam-lessness makes motel rooms cramped, air unbreathable. 

Dean doesn’t look at the copy of the letter he made all those months ago, keeps it tucked between rock salt and boxers.

He doesn’t need to see anything but the Stanford emblem to know what it means.

What it meant.

Dean comes all over his fist at night, silent, two fingers tucked high into his ass and he doesn’t think about his brother.

 


End file.
